An interesting meeting
by Is0lde
Summary: My first fanfic based on The Matrix! Hurrah!


_(Author's note: Okay. So this is a description of a very special meeting – namely that between Agent Smith and the Merovingian. I know this doesn't actually have a point yet, but my intent with this in the beginning was that the Merovingian would have information about where the agents could be able to find Neo – or, as Smith calls him throughout the Matrix trilogy, Mr Anderson. But since I wrote this about a year ago, I've lost interest in it... and I have no inspiration whatsoever, so we'll see if this actually gets a second chapter and, at the same time, a point._

_Otherwise, yeah... this has no Purpose. Therefore it shouldn't exist. But R&R anyway, people! That way, maybe I'll get inspired into getting on with this story...)_

_(and, oh yeah: I don't own these characters! And that's a damned shame... 'cause I wouldn't have produced unnecessary sequels! )_

---

There was snow on every suburban roof. A white, thick cover of icy cold – a relentless power.

You would perhaps, upon reading this description, assume that it was very cold outside. That assumption would be correct. It would be... devastatingly correct.

It was beneath the roofs, almost collapsing under the white substance that was winter's trademark, that the People lived. Humans, the small and hugely annoying creatures that smothered the earth like mites in a dirty old mattress. Well, all unpleasant metaphors aside, the houses were nice quarters for the most unintelligent species that's ever lived and breathed.

My own personal meaning is they're only good for being batteries. Even though this simulation exists only for the sole purpose of controlling these parasites, they're _still_ only good for one single thing.  
(Yes, that's right. That _doesn't_ include being total assholes to each other.)

It was a cold day in late November, and I was taking my daily stroll around the neighbourhood. My round included both millionaire penthouses and ordinary flats designed for the less fortunate parasites. This was what I had to patrol, day in and day out.

Well... at least parts of it.

The snow rustled beneath my black patent leather shoes. They were waterproof. Clever. Since we have to operate in multiple environments and surroundings, it's nice to have equipment especially standardised for our work.

That also includes the Suite™, Tie™ and Sunglasses™. They're considered a bonus.

In any case, today, I had specific orders. This was highly unusual; mostly, I just patrolled without goal or plan. It was nice to actually be going somewhere with my patrolling for a change.

I was to keep a watchful eye over this specific area. There was a person who we believed had its habitat somewhere around there, and it was of great importance that we could find him before... before _Morpheus_ did.

Seeing as I am pretty high-ranking in our organisation, I could probably have adjusted my orders to my own liking, but my orders came from a Higher Place, a place very few of us had had the opportunity to see and experience.

Thus, I followed the instructions given to me. After all, I was (and still am) serving the Purpose. The Purpose is everything, the Purpose is what defines and drives us. The Purpose is... the most important thing about this lowly existence I'd been forced to lead.

This was a perfectly normal day, which pretty much meant that nothing in particular happened. None at all. It was like a sort of strange isolation, just walking around doing absolutely nothing at all. The only thing at all moving except me was a black cat, crossing my path across the street. It stopped in front of me to lick its tail. I thought nothing of it, but instead continued walking straight forward.

Suddenly, the calm sense of everything being still was disrupted by a weird kind of crushing sound, followed by a high-pitched and most irritating shriek of pain. I felt something beneath my foot, but I couldn't for my... err... my entire existence figure out what it could be. Thus, I lifted my beautifully perfected shoe to take a peak. Something black and furry had apparently been crushed. Woops, I thought to myself. Woopsy daisy. That's what'll happen when your head is in the skies.

I felt something revolt inside me. I wasn't certain of what it could be, but I guessed it was a form of... disdain.

Pathetic animal!

I put down my foot nimbly, and scraped the sole off against the gutter-stones. Something vaguely red, all sticky to its form, stuck to them.

Hmm.

Luckily, I'm not at all superstitious. Else I might have taken that event as a bad omen, crushing an... _animal_ like that. But we don't believe in such things. We believe only in the Purpose, and the Means to executing the Purpose's... purpose.

Ehum, ehum.

I stopped in front of one of the more exclusive houses, and corrected my tie-knot with a cracking sound. It had almost gone entirely stiff because of the cold.

This specific house was... special, in some way. I couldn't decide on which was more special; the unusual placement of the garden bushes, or the charming detail that there was a body laying in the front lawn, its neck clearly broken, with a sawed-off ladder beside it.

Naturally, I pondered over what might have caused this. Ladders don't usually saw themselves off, at least not judging from my experience (which I'll admit is a bit defective; I usually have better things to do than inspect ladders' behavioural patterns).

I think I could guess pretty accurately. After all, I've been in the game for quite some time now, and things generally follow certain patterns.

The client in question had been out to repaint his house. On his ladder, he had been... vulnerable. Horribly and... _deliciously_ vulnerable.

An old enemy, probably a pissed-off neighbour, had come forth from behind the plum trees. He had initiated the sawing process. The client had probably asked him to stop, which he obviously hadn't.

When a man's got to kill, a man's got to kill.

So now, he lay here, this ridiculous candidate for my attention. A stain on the already dirty and tarnished humanity.

Well, what could you do? I walked away, of course. With my honour and pride still intact. There, on his well-kept lawn, he could stay until the end of time. It wasn't _my_ responsibility to move the corpse – the killer should have taken care of that himself.

Stupid humans.

Anyway, I was going nowhere (which was very disturbing - after all, I didn't like being discarded in this manner. You have no idea how it feels to go from shooting people all day to patrolling sleepy suburbs out in the middle of nowhere at all!) in this neighbourhood. I had yet to discover anything remotely tipping me off about the whereabouts of the Target. Annoyingly enough, still nothing happened. Not even a glimpse of activity could be seen anywhere. And keep in mind, I have very good eyesight. I could have spotted a fly being eaten by a spider, but not even that sort of basic natural happening occurred on this street. I was beginning to think this was what humans meant when they spoke of Hell.

Of course, Hell is a strictly mythological creation, spawned in superstitious people's minds. It's sheer stupidity to believe that some creature with horns and a pitchfork is awaiting you if you die with blood on your hands. After all, who'd have the patience to stand around all day long waiting for some interesting soul to come along?

"Ah, Mr Brown, I see you've committed adultery. Well, that'll be the... hmm, let's see... ah yes, that'll be the --- Circle of Hell for you, then. Oh, and say hello to Mr Clinton for me."

Ridiculous!

Right across the street, I could see a man walking. He wore a long, white coat, which the code told me was fashioned in tweed fabric, and nicely polished black leather boots. His eyes were covered by black sunglasses, almost exactly like the ones I was wearing myself. His hair ended high up the edge of the scalp – _"A man in his best age"_, I thought briefly to myself.

I decided to investigate this further. After all, I had nothing better to do, and this man seemed very interesting. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said that he might have been one of us. Apart from the stupid white coat, of course. That was just inane.

I turned sharply to the right and parked myself in front of the man. He stopped immediately.

"Can I help you with something?" he said, in a blasé tone of voice. I noticed that he had a French accent.

"I'd like to know what you are," I answered him quickly. I realised I had to put myself on the line here to gain something from this conversation.

"What I am? WHAT I am?" I noticed amusement in his output code. "I'm of the species Homo Sapiens. Meat popsicle. Nice terms aside, a human. And you, Sir?"

I found myself having nothing to say. Could it possibly be that this human had intelligence superior to the average creatures of his sort? It seemed, to me, impossible. I answered him with an appropriate amount of politeness, so he wouldn't become suspicious of me.

"I don't think it's in your best interest to be asking me that question." My neck made a cracking sound as I corrected my tie again. That always seemed to have an impressive effect on my victims. "But since you've asked me in a such appealing manner... I am an agent. And I'm looking for someone."

"An agent?" The man seemed a bit taken aback. But then, he started laughing. I really hadn't foreseen that response. "Interesting. Well, that explains your code's total lack of otherwise perfectly human and natural emotion."

_MY CODE?_

Who _was_ this human? One of the Enlightened, an Enemy to the Purpose? One of Morpheus' little henchmen?

I put my hand on the gun in my inner coat pocket, but I didn't bring it forth just yet. The better action in this situation would definitely be to interrogate this... phenomena, instead of just eliminating it.

"What do you mean?" I asked him, as normally as I could muster. I couldn't show fear or doubt – that could ruin _everything_.

(... speaking of fear, I've never actually experienced it. This poses as a problem, since I have no understanding for how this... feeling operates in the human system. This gives me a kind of... dead appearance.

Lack of empathy is a good thing. It gives you wings for flying over the boundaries of moral.

Anyway, I think I've slid off the subject again...)

"I mean, the utter lack of feelings are quite obvious in your output code," the man retorted, mockingly, as though he was talking to a complete imbecile. "Honestly, are these small games of ours really necessary? Mon dieu... you know what I'm talking about!"

"Who exactly are you?" I felt a vein near my temple pounding alarmingly hard, as it always does when I get irritated, agitated or otherwise annoyed. If I'd been human I would have had a heart attack by now.

"You may call me Merovingian." He lifted his hands to his face and took off his sunglasses. A pair of cold, indifferent eyes became visible to me.

"Oh, I may, may I?" I was still decisive not to show anything to this... creature. Because I'd now come to the distinct conclusion that this was definitely not a human I was dealing with. This was something _completely_ different.

I couldn't lose my grip in such an... _interesting_ situation.


End file.
